by David Archer
Noah looked at her for a long moment and then he took out his phone. When he got Allison on the line, he explained the whole plan and even let Monica take the phone for a few minutes to answer questions. Thirty minutes later, he looked at Neil and said, “Do it.”
* * * * *
Boris Petroski woke to the sound of his phone ringing and groggily picked it up and forced his eyes to focus on the screen. The number was one that he recognized, and it brought him instantly awake.
“Yes?”
“Boris, I have something for you to do.” The distorted voice he knew so well always sent a shiver down his spine.
Monica spent almost an hour going over the plan with Boris, and finally had to make him get on his computer and look at the stories that were already circulating around the world. The president was a hero because he had learned about the conspiracy and turned it against itself. The president was told of the conspiracy by a high-ranking official in the prime minister’s office, a man who would remain anonymous despite being greatly rewarded. The infamous “sleeper agents” were of such great importance to the president that he had decided to keep their identities a secret, and they were comfortably placed in positions where they could maintain that anonymity until they were needed again.
“Now, Boris,” Monica said at last, “do you understand what you must do?”
“I understand,” he said. “I am simply trying to think of a way to get the president to see me. Everyone in Petrov’s office is under suspension at this time.”
“Oh, come now, Boris. Someone in the position you held would have a number of people who would prefer you not reveal something you know. Use that to your advantage. Call on those you know who have the ear of the president and tell them that getting you an audience with him will guarantee that you remain their friend from now on. That way, you have not made a threat, but they will understand.”
Boris hesitated. “Well, yes,” he said cautiously. “There is one man…”
Five minutes later, Boris made another call. “Vasily,” he said. “This is Boris Petroski. I need your help.” He listened for a moment and then a sly smile stole across his face. “Vasily, all of us have friends, don’t we? Some of us have friends we would prefer not to let others know about. Incidentally, do you know Mr. Wilkerson at the American Embassy?” He listened again and the smile became wider. “And this is why you and I are such good friends, Vasily. There are times when we each need something from the other, is that not correct?” The smile became beatific and Boris closed his eyes in delight as he listened to his friend Vasily. “Vasily, I need to speak with the president, and I need to speak with him right away. I know that you can make this happen, and it will ensure to you my continued friendship—and silence—forever if you do so.”
* * * * *
The Gulfstream landed at Kirtland Airport and nine weary travelers disembarked. They made their way across the tarmac to the parking lot, where they all climbed into a big Hummer. One of them was dropped at a hotel, four others were dropped at their own various homes, and then the Hummer made its way to Temple Lake Road and eventually to Noah’s house.
Two of the four remaining passengers staggered inside the house and made it to the bedroom. They dropped their bags on the floor and stripped out of their clothes, then crawled into the bed and were asleep in seconds.
The other two drove the Hummer across the yard to Neil’s house trailer and went inside. Like Noah and Sarah, they headed straight to the bedroom, got out of their clothes and lay down. Neil wrapped his arms around Jenny and held her close, kissing her gently once.
He realized that she was shaking, and he opened his eyes to look at her. Tears were streaming down her face as she looked up at him, and he asked her what was wrong.
“Nothing,” she said. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong. Actually, everything is absolutely wonderful.”
Neil’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Baby, are you okay?”
Suddenly she wrapped her arms around him and held herself as close as she could. She kissed his cheek several times, then whispered in his ear, “You came after me.”
LET ME DO THE WORK
Writing is my passion. It's also my livelihood. These two simple facts just so happen to create books. Lots of them. I do my absolute best to write everyday, and on the few days I cannot, I am thinking about writing.
Due to this, I am often releasing new books in all of my fan-favorite series. From Noah Wolf, to Sam Prichard, to Cassie McGraw, and others!
If you enjoy any of these characters and wish to be kept up to date about any new releases in their respective series, then please take a moment to consider signing up to my new releases mailing list. It's completely free and is 100% spam free (this is VERY important to me.)
If that's something you'd be interested in, then simply click here and you can be signed up in seconds!
Also, as an added “extra” bonus I will immediately send you two completely free novels from my bestselling Sam Prichard and Noah Wolf series. You will be able to download and keep these books forever. Even if you decide to unsubscribe 5 seconds after receiving them. They are my gift to you, and hopefully a way of showing how I like to treat my readers.
Once again, here is that link. Thanks again so much for taking the time to read my work, I truly hope you enjoyed it!
EXCERPT OF NEXT BOOK
If you enjoyed this novel, then there is a high likelihood that you will also enjoy the next book in the series. But don't take my word for it, get a taste for yourself. Simply continue reading for a sneak peak. Or if you'd rather, you can go ahead purchase your own full copy of the book by clicking here.
Flip the page to read the except...
PROLOGUE
Chidi Abimbola wiped the sweat off his brow and looked up at the sun. It was high and it was hot, but that was normal in this part of western Algeria. He and Oni were walking along the path through the Sahrawi refugee sector, occasionally returning the smile of someone they passed by, or nodding to an acquaintance on their way. They were barely twenty miles from the border with Western Sahara, and only a few miles southwest of Tindouf. Chidi, the Wali, or territorial governor, had his office there.
“General Zaki says we are ready,” he said to his aide, Oni. “The only thing standing between us and independence, now, is Algiers. We have secured the support of Mauritania, Western Sahara, and Morocco, all of whom will recognize us as a separate nation. The announcements will go out at four o’clock today throughout the world, and we are prepared for any military action Algiers may decide to take.”
Oni inclined his head. “Our people have waited long for this day,” he said. “Freedom is their dream, and whatever the cost, we will pay it.”
“I suspect it will be high, Oni. Zaki has only forty thousand troops, less than a dozen warplanes and a single artillery division. President Belkacem can hit us with three times our numbers within a matter of days. If our allies fail us, we will all be hanged for treason.”
Oni maintained his reverent posture. “Morocco and Mauritania will stand with us,” he said. “We will control enough natural gas reserves to be worth defending, and our iron mines are the most productive in this part of Africa. Western Sahara may waver, but I believe they will follow Mauritania. Individually, none of them have the military strength to stand up to Algiers, but together we can throw off the oppression we have labored under for so many years. Mauritania enjoys strong relations with the United States, so the Americans might recognize us. Europe receives most of our natural gas, so we could see support from them, as well.”
“All of that is only speculative,” Chidi said. “We must plan as best we can for our own defense, but I agree that Mauritania and Morocco will at least rattle their swords on our behalf. That should be enough to make President Belkacem think twice before launching an all-out offensive.”
Oni finally looked up at him. “Zaki has been playing at training exercises for the past few weeks, to cover up the fact t
hat he has been placing troops into defensive positions along our border. His officers are loyal, he says, and he expects loyalty from almost all of his troops. Arranging housing for the families of the soldiers who were stationed here was a stroke of brilliance. It gives them all more than enough reason to want to stay in West Algeria, once we split from the rest of the nation.”
Chidi smiled. “Seems to me I remember someone suggesting that to me. It was brilliant, yes, but it was your idea, my friend. So many of the things that have brought us to this point were from that powerful mind of yours, but you always let the world think they were mine. Don’t you ever get tired of being in the shadow of your own puppet?”
Oni glared at him, but there was friendly affection hidden in it. “Chidi, you are anything but a puppet. I have served you for more than fifteen years, and I’ve seen how hard you have worked to protect the people of Tindouf. When Belkacem apportioned our resources to benefit Algiers, you fought against him and almost faced prison, but you prevailed. There is no one better to serve as our first president than you.”
“But you still refuse to take a post in the new government?” Chidi asked. “You could be vice president, the people would not object.”
“I prefer, my good friend, to remain in your service. I do not believe I could bear the stress of political life, but I have learned that you are not so much a politician as a man who loves his people. Together, I think we have found ways to do things that neither of us might have accomplished alone. Do you disagree?”
“Not at all, Oni. I know full well that I would not be where I am today without your wisdom and advice, and I am incredibly grateful for both. We are about to enter a new age for all of us, and I do not know how I could go further without you, but I also do not wish to keep you from the rewards you have earned. Our new country owes you a great debt, and I will make certain that the people know this.”
Once more, Oni bowed his head modestly. “I need no accolades, and no reward. The freedom of our people is the reward we have both sought for so long, and now you are making it come to fruition. Only let me continue to serve, and I am happy.”
They entered one of the many huts in the area and were greeted by a woman who led them through a curtain, to where her elderly husband was waiting. He was sitting on a bench at a table, and invited them to sit and join him as he ate shakshouka, a dish of eggs poached in a tomato sauce and covered with diced vegetables.
“A pleasure,” Chidi said, as the old woman spooned eggs and sauce onto plates for both of them. “We thank you, Doctor Benyamina. I trust you have been well, and your wife and family?”
Benyamina smiled. “We are as we are. And you, old friend?”
“I have been well,” Chidi said. “I have been busy, as you can imagine, but all will be finished as of today. Are your people ready for the events to come?”
“We have been ready for many years, Chidi. Algiers has ignored our province for decades, either letting us wallow in poverty or raping our resources to enrich the rest of the country. It is time for us to stand up for ourselves, and I only give thanks to Allah that I have lived to see this day come.”
“It could not have come without you, old friend. You, and those who worked with you in secret are the true heroes of our cause. One day soon, I shall be able to throw back the veil that has kept you hidden for so long.”
Benyamina grinned, his toothless mouth stretching across his wizened face. “I was among the first to speak out for independence more than twenty years ago, as you know very well. Syphax Rezgui and I were the ones who devised the cell system that kept us all out of prisons, though I suspect that is no secret any longer. Only the government’s fear of the younger ones in our movement keeps me from being arrested these days.”
“As long as it works,” Oni said, his own smile showing his reverence for the old rebel. “But I think there have been enough rumors of your death to confuse the issue. I heard four different stories in the past month alone, how you fought off eighteen soldiers before they got you, or how you outran an assassin for more than an hour before your heart gave out. And, of course, we have taken pains to keep your location a great secret, as well.”
“Indeed,” the old man replied. “Without your help, I think someone would have collected a bounty on me by now. Perhaps I should just be grateful in general, and not worry about how I have managed such a long life?”
The three of them shared a chuckle at the joke, and fell to eating and small talk. They spoke of mutual friends, Benyamina told stories of his great-grandchildren, and Chidi boasted of his own year-old grandson. Oni had no children, and so he only spoke admiringly of the little ones.
When they were finished eating, and Benyamina’s wife had left them alone, Chidi looked into the old man’s eyes. “We are only hours from our declaration of secession,” he said. “All of the arrangements have been made, and it will be broadcast from my office. Will you come and be beside me for this moment of history?”
“Allah be praised, Chidi, I would love to be there, but this is a time for the political minds to be wary. You don’t need an old revolutionary, even a quiet one like me, to cast the hint of treachery over this day. Make your announcement, and let the world see men of words acting to make this a peaceful transition, rather than a violent one. We have accomplished this marvel without resorting to the tactics of the jihadists, without resorting to any kind of violence. Bask in the glory, old friend.”
Chidi bowed his head respectfully. “As you wish, then,” he said. “We must be going. It is a long walk back to the car, and then another hour to my office.” He got to his feet and clasped his hands around one of the old man’s. “Thank you, Mourad, for all that you have done to help us bring this to be.”
He turned and walked out, as Oni made his own respects to the old man. Once Chidi was out of the room and far enough away, Benyamina looked him in the eye. “Does he suspect anything?”
“No, Sahib. I have taken great care to be sure, and always show him only how concerned I am for his safety. He will take us to independence, and then our new nation will mourn his loss. As a martyr, he will live forever in the hearts and minds of our people and keep them from ever bowing the knee to Algiers again.”
“Yes, but without his sacrifice, they may not last through the troubles to come. Men will fight for freedom until their children begin to cry from hunger, and then they will begin to wonder whether they were better off under the old regime.” He smiled, but there was a sadness in it. “Everything is arranged?”
“Yes. It will happen on the eighth day from today. Belkacem will make his strongest move against us at that time, and we will need a martyr. Chidi is so beloved by the people that his death will rally them when we will need the momentum the most.”
“Go, then,” Benyamina said. “Don’t let him wonder what we are talking about. And remember, Oni, you must take your place to lead us once he is gone. Do not shirk the duty that has fallen to you.”
“I will do as I must, Sahib,” Oni said, and then he left the room quickly to catch up with his oldest friend.
“Was Mourad berating you again over his daughter?” Chidi asked with a smile, as Oni took his place beside him. “You know, she isn’t all that ugly. Perhaps a wife would be good for you.”
Oni made a face. “She looks like a camel,” he said, “and she spits like one. Besides, I have never considered marriage for political gain to be worth the sacrifices it entails. If I ever marry, it will be to a woman who only wants a man to keep her comfortable, and doesn’t expect romance. So much simpler that way.”
Chidi laughed. They talked of simpler things through the rest of the long walk back to where they had left the car, and then Oni drove them back into Tindouf.
The office of the provincial governor was nothing special. It was housed in the only government building in the entire city, on the third floor overlooking the market area. Chidi spoke with his secretary when they arrived, taking the slips of paper that told him who had ca
lled while he was gone. None of them were relevant to the events that were about to unfold, so he set them aside when he got back to his desk.
Oni went to the cabinet near the side wall and began setting up the video camera. Arrangements had been made for the broadcast of the announcement of secession, and all they had to do was connect the camera to the computer that would transmit the video signal to all the major news organizations in the world. BBC, CNN, Pravda, EuroNews, Al Jazeera and more would receive it live, and it was expected that most of them would turn it into a major story. After all, it wasn’t every day that a large nation split.
It took him only a few moments to get everything set up, and then he called to confirm that the connection was working. The local TV station would be the intermediary, and would broadcast a short warning to all of the agencies that a major announcement was coming. It was possible that many of them would simply stream it live to all of their affiliates.
At ten minutes to four, the warning went out. At exactly four o’clock, Oni activated the camera, which was focused on Chidi Abimbola.
“Greetings to the world,” Chidi said. “I am Chidi Abimbola, governor of Tindouf province in Algeria. I come before the world today to announce the secession of West Algeria from its mother country.”
